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"Can you explain the reason for what just happened before us, my brother Magnus?"
"A mistake, Perturabo, nothing more."
"Your most trusted mortal is suffering, even amidst the chaos of the Dawn Star, she has never been so disheveled. And you intend to gloss over this with a mere 'mistake'?"
Magnus was silent for a moment, seemingly considering how to respond.
Finally, he spoke, his words carrying a cold analysis completely different from before.
"There are three flaws in your words, my brother, and I shall point them out individually."
"Firstly, you are right. Morgana is indeed one of the most important mortals in my legion. My regard for her is second only to my own scions. So, please, do not use such an accusatory tone, Perturabo. I am also anxious. I am also concerned about her condition."
"Secondly, do not view all problems from your personal perspective, my brother. Morgana is a high-ranking advisor of the Fifteenth Legion (emphasis). How she performed on the Dawn Star, and what she endured, I know clearer than you. In that world that has passed, she encountered even worse situations and problems. She is not as fragile as you think, Perturabo. She is a powerful, resolute, and trustworthy warrior."
"Lastly, such things are not what we desire. Perhaps there is indeed a reason on my part, but I certainly did not stand idly by, my brother. I once led Morgana and my unfortunate scions deep into the vast ocean. I personally found solutions to each of their soul's dilemmas. I guarantee that every one of them received complete healing. Whether my scions or Morgana, I personally witnessed the restoration of their souls."
The Primarch spoke eloquently, while his sons stood by, filled with confusion and even dismay at witnessing this overly strange scene.
Atal stood there, personally witnessing how Morgana, in a sudden faint, fell into a whirlpool of pain and struggle, and personally listened to the two Primarchs' arguments and debates about it. Even with an Astartes' superhuman mind, he couldn't keep up with the swift logic between the two Emperor's sons' words.
This was originally just a normal discussion: two Primarchs, one Astartes, one mortal advisor, nothing more. There wasn't even an Iron Warrior present, as they were all busy with a large-scale live-fire exercise.
Perturabo had personally selected a group of his sons to serve as the legion's representatives for the Randan front, as a display of the Lord of Iron and the Fourth Legion's capabilities. The remaining sons of Perturabo would then have to contend for the last remaining slots: despite the danger of the prize, every son of Perturabo still used all their strength to compete for victory, hoping to gain the Gene-Father's favor. This was truly a wondrous spectacle.
But Atal no longer had the time or energy to reflect on all of this, for his thoughts were already consumed by his gene-father's strange pronouncements. He didn't understand why Magnus spoke with such a demeanor and tone. In his impression, the Lord of Prospero was never a figure like a chapter directory or an intercom. He preferred to speak with emotional and philosophical short phrases, rather than listing ruthless regulations.
But soon, this confusion vanished, because the Thousand Sons warrior saw a miraculous scene: accompanying Magnus's words, the Lord of Iron's fury visibly extinguished.
Perturabo slightly lowered his head. His flames of anger had clearly dimmed due to Magnus's point-by-point analysis. Even as the Lord of Prospero's words echoed in the room, the Lord of Iron's face began to show a posture of serious listening.
Clearly, this kind of rational debate, rather than fierce argument, made Perturabo feel calmer.
Magnus was not a fool. Perhaps he lacked sufficient experience before, but now, he knew, or rather, finally recalled how to converse with his brother.
Nevertheless, this still couldn't make Perturabo abandon his doubts.
"Don't avoid the issue, Magnus. We ultimately need to prioritize reality over words. The current reality is that your so-called healing has not had the intended effect: when a patient leaves the infirmary, their safety and health are still the responsibility of the doctor."
"Perhaps it's just a relapse of an old injury. You know, Perturabo, when we fill a rift, tiny stones and dust always fall out. For us and our scions, this might be nothing, but for mortals, it's too heavy."
"Then why do you insist on your method? Magnus, have you ever considered that for mortals, or for anything in the world, your psychic power isn't a panacea? It only applies to the narrow domain you and your scions are familiar with."
It started again.
Faced with his brother's questioning, the Lord of Prospero could only sigh inwardly.
Perturabo always believed himself to be a calm and rational individual, neither interfering too much with others nor criticizing anything in the world based on his own ideas. In the Lord of Iron's self-perception and impression, he disdained to do so.
This was probably the most wonderful, yet also the most terrifying, self-misunderstanding in the world.
Magnus was silent for a while, until the uncomfortable atmosphere in the room accumulated too much, even making Atal feel difficulty breathing.
"This is my method, Perturabo. If you think it's not good enough, then what you should do is not simply oppose it, but present a better, or at least an equivalent, solution. I know that with your talent, you will understand this, my brother."
These words were like a provocation, but Perturabo actually laughed. He opened his mouth, seeming to want to say something more to prove himself, but it was precisely at this moment that three pairs of ears simultaneously heard Morgana's murmured awakening.
The scene that followed was comical.
Atal was someone who saw everything clearly. He stood at the very edge of this small conference room, able to clearly see the actions of the two Primarchs: Magnus was clearly startled by this sudden awakening. He silently moved away a bit, seemingly wary of how much of his earlier words had been overheard.
His own Gene-Father seemed to hesitate, displaying a timid mentality peculiar to scholars, unwilling to bear the primary responsibility or the focal point of conflict.
This thought flashed through Atal's mind and was immediately forcibly erased. He believed his father could not be such a common person.
And Perturabo's reaction was even more interesting. Atal personally witnessed the Lord of Iron's peculiar behavior: when he discovered Morgana gradually awakening, Perturabo's face, which had been slightly contorted by the debate, suddenly solidified. The smile that was about to appear also remained on his face for a brief moment, forming a somewhat terrifying and comical expression. This expression was fleeting. When Morgana opened her eyes, the Lord of Iron's face had returned to his cold indifference.
Atal could see Perturabo's lips slightly parting and closing, seemingly wanting to ask something, but ultimately, he chose to step back a little, handing the first question to Magnus.
——————
So, when Morgana's consciousness fully awakened, what she saw were the two Primarchs and an Astartes standing uniformly at the edge of the room.
As if she were some terrifying monster.
——————
Magnus patiently waited for a while, until his consciousness could perceive that the silver-haired mortal female officer before him had completely collected her thoughts. Only then did the Primarch slowly take a step forward.
"How is the situation?"
Magnus asked.
"Did my healing inadvertently damage certain parts of your soul kingdom, or some unknown domain? I can check again. Please tell me the truth, Advisor Morgana, without any reservations."
Morgana shook her head.
[No, it's just a simple loss of power. Although ten days have passed, I still haven't completely digested and organized the healing power you bestowed. It occasionally rages in my brain for a while—I apologize for making you concerned, Your Excellency.]
Magnus listened carefully. Then, he revealed a gentle smile. The Primarch's crimson skin wrinkled, like a layer of volcanic lava being swirled into a vortex.
But Magnus's happiness didn't last long. His brother's cold voice came from behind him.
"She should undergo a check-up, Magnus. A check-up performed with real medical equipment and a rigorous scientific attitude. Then, use psychologists and specialized methods to determine her true mental state, to assess whether long-term drug treatment or convalescence is needed, instead of now, relying on the purest self-assessment to determine health. Mortals' bodies and minds can deceive them... including your scions, they are the same."
That last sentence seemed to be an impromptu addition.
Morgana thought to herself.
But when her gaze shifted with those words to Perturabo, she found that the Lord of Iron seemed to intentionally raise his head, not choosing to meet her gaze. His gaze was scattered and unfocused, as if his words just now were merely a casual accusation.
Such words did not cause any reaction from Morgana. Instead, Magnus raised his eyebrows, turned his head, and looked at his brother.
"I will do this, Perturabo. If necessary, I will indeed do this. The auxiliary departments of the Thousand Sons Legion possess a complete medical system. No one needs to worry about this."
Perturabo chuckled. He leaned back against the wall, his gaze fixed on his brother, like a victorious debater.
"Based on your and your scions' attitude, I have reason to doubt this, my brother Magnus. You rely too much on this unknown magic. I even doubt if you truly paid attention to your medical team, or if you truly tested their abilities in emergency situations, instead of leaving everything to the Warp."
Perturabo's words were swift and sharp, but soon, he realized he had probably said too much. The Lord of Iron opened his mouth, then simply turned his head to the other side.
Morgana could see Magnus's expression becoming somewhat complicated: the Lord of Prospero's lips curved into a helpless, slightly bitter smile, but his eyebrows were deeply furrowed due to his brother's almost offensive remarks.
Morgana glanced at Magnus, then turned her gaze back to Perturabo. When her gaze reached him, she felt as if her gaze and the Lord of Iron's gaze had briefly touched. But when she blinked, wanting to confirm, she found that Perturabo's head was directly turned away from her.
Atal watched the Lord of Iron subtly glance at his brother and the mortal, then quickly avert his gaze when discovered. The Thousand Sons warrior somewhat uncomfortably moved his neck, only hoping that Perturabo had truly forgotten his presence.
Just then, Magnus spoke, inadvertently saving his scion.
"Oh, you can certainly question the professionalism of my Prosperan people, my brother. I will not be angry about this. After all, counsel always needs to be respected, no matter what it says."
"Then, Perturabo, my brother, perhaps I can count on your strength? Perhaps your legion has sufficiently excellent medical personnel who could assist my mortal advisor, or even my scions?"
With these words, Perturabo seemed to deign to turn his head back. He first looked at Morgana expressionlessly, then immediately shifted his gaze to Magnus.
"Your scions don't seem to need my help, Magnus. They always rely too much on your guidance and power. Clearly, your status in their hearts is enough to make even the most intelligent soldiers choose foolishness, and the most seasoned officers choose blind obedience."
Magnus smiled, as if he hadn't heard Perturabo's soft mockery. He had already learned how to interact with the Lord of Iron. For such words, he simply took them as the most ordinary and simple compliments.
Perturabo's compliments were rare.
"Then what about Morgana? I trust you won't be stingy with your power, right, Perturabo?"
At these words, Atal looked at his Gene-Father with some alarm. Then he found that Magnus looked at his brother with a peculiar attitude, as if determined to find some joy from his iron-like brother to compensate himself.
Then, he saw Perturabo turn around and walk with heavy steps towards Magnus. The Lord of Iron's gaze shifted to Morgana, but he refused to meet her eyes. Then, Perturabo looked at his brother.
"Do you remember our conversation just now, brother?"
"Which one do you mean?"
"Your first point, Magnus. You certainly remember it, right?"
"Of course, I can even repeat it: Morgana is an important part of my legion. She deserves my attention and respect. She deserves to be a proud and trusted part of the legion."
"Then take all this seriously!"
Perturabo's tone suddenly rose, making his words sound like a roar, surging back and forth like a whirlwind in the small conference room.
"Take your power seriously, Magnus! Carefully consider the possibility of her losses and pain! Don't treat this as a boring gamble that can be solved with jokes and playful attitudes!"
"She can add bricks to your cause, add bargaining chips to your victory, that is a power worth taking seriously—yes, seriously! I think you know what I mean! Change your attitude, this will ruin you!"
Perturabo's anger echoed in the room. Clearly, this temperamental great general had once again fallen into a sudden rage.
And when his brief outburst of anger subsided, Perturabo's gaze briefly swept over everyone present, then he turned around and left in a hurry.
It wasn't until the sound of Perturabo's iron boots clanking on the floor gradually disappeared at the end of the corridor that Magnus seemed to react. The Lord of Prospero's smile was still frozen on his face. He reached out, poured a glass of wine for himself and Morgana, and then slowly drank it.
"He used to be like this."
As the wine slowly ran out, Magnus suddenly spoke these words.
——————
The Lord of Iron left, but the conversation between the Primarch and the mortal continued.
"Do you know Randan?"
Magnus, while gesturing to his poor son Atal to sit down, turned his head and looked at Morgana.
[Bits and pieces.]
"Bits and pieces... A good evaluation. Our understanding of this enemy is also just bits and pieces, just like our understanding of most species in this galaxy. Before we fully understood them, we had already completely annihilated them."
"But Randan is different. It's more troublesome, a considerable problem. The First Legion even lost its Glorious Queen in its war against it. And now, they're back. The war won't stop; it will only burn more fiercely."
"The Fifth Legion and the Nineteenth Legion have sent distress signals more than once, and my legion is also in the support queue. I need to send some personnel. This will be a dangerous mission, very... dangerous."
"I won't beat around the bush, Lady Morgana. I hope you can join the Thousand Sons Legion's special detachment, as one of the legion's representatives, to the front lines against Randan. I will give you the identity of a liaison officer. This is a position more inclined towards headquarters, not the front line."
"You can refuse. That's only human. More than empty promises, I hope to hear your true thoughts."
The Primarch finished his request, then he fell silent, waiting for Morgana's reply.
Magnus showed his patience. He watched Morgana slowly sip her wine, sip after sip, glass after glass...
Until she finally spoke.
[Why me? Purely from a utilitarian and practical needs perspective, such a battlefield is more suitable for Astartes. Even for liaison functions, specially trained Astartes warriors can perform best.]
"That's right, that's correct."
Magnus leaned on his arm, seemingly not wanting to dwell too much on this question. He frowned, somewhat conflicted about his next words.
"I do have several more outstanding scions, but with all due respect, Lady Morgana, I have a vague sense of unease. My intuition tells me not to let some of my scions stray too far from me. Perhaps some not-so-good things might happen."
Magnus spoke quite sincerely, but his gaze was scattered and wandering, completely immersed in his own world, without more carefully observing the mortal advisor in front of him: if he had done so, the Primarch would have noticed a strange light flashing in Morgana's eyes.
Morgana fell silent. After a while, she chose to speak with difficulty.
[Then, who do I cooperate with?]
"Ahriman."
Magnus's voice held pride.
"He is one of my most outstanding scions. You have cooperated with him and have a friendship. I trust your cooperation."
"You know, the Thousand Sons Legion is still in a relatively fragile stage, so I cannot mobilize a large army to aid my brothers. I will only dispatch a hundred people. You will not be involved in the front lines as a pure combat team. Your role will be as an advisor and timely auxiliary force, using the wonders of psychic power to help different troops."
"Ahriman will be the captain to manage all this, and your duty will be to serve as the legion's liaison officer, to follow and understand the will of headquarters, ensuring that the latest information can be transmitted to Ahriman. I believe that with your abilities, you are fully capable of this."
Saying this, the Primarch placed a medal in the center of the table. Morgana looked at it for a while, then took it.
Magnus's smile became even more sincere.
"If you have any needs, you can..."
The Primarch wanted to say something more, but a muffled sound interrupted him. Perturabo's figure reappeared. He held a thick stack of documents in his hand and raised his head as if nothing had happened.
"My legion's personnel selection has been completed."
The Lord of Iron's voice was like two pieces of real steel grinding against each other.
"The first batch of reinforcements: ten special detachments, five hundred men each, equipped with triple firepower quotas."
"Precisely, I'm also done."
Magnus smiled at his brother, as if he had also forgotten everything that had just happened.
"I'm not as generous as you, Perturabo. I can only dispatch a hundred men. Ahriman will lead the team, and Lady Morgana will serve as the detachment's adjutant."
Morgana could feel Perturabo's gaze on her, sharp as a torch. But when she looked up, the Lord of Iron's gaze quickly moved away, leaving only Magnus's laughter and question.
"So, you're sending five thousand people?"
"...No."
"Five thousand and thirty people."
"They can assist your detachment."
Perturabo said this, then pulled out a document from his files and forcefully inserted it into the personnel list he had just categorized.
Magnus glanced at it.
"Thirty apothecaries?"
Perturabo closed his eyes, snorted coldly, and then said nothing.
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